


I See Fire

by Kayfox



Series: The Heartbreak World [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, pre-slash relationship - Freeform, waterspirit!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:03:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayfox/pseuds/Kayfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still, Stiles misses the sea. He'd never admit it, but he feels trapped, slowly suffocating. Here in Beacon Hills, the town of his mother's dreams, Stiles feels like he is decanting.</p><p>In the town that his mother loves, there is no access to the sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See Fire

i.

\-----

A mother is supposed to know best, but when Neirna Adualina stole out of the sea, Genim learnt that sometimes love made fools of people.

Now Nierna is dead after seven years of happiness, and Genim Stilinski is left with two shimmering bolts of cloth, because his mom could never wear her skin. True to the last of his kind left on land, he burns it.

\-----

Stiles is old.

Born spirit without skin, force of consciousness not locked by reality, Stiles has forgotten how old he is. When Stiles created his sark with his mother, time had not passed. When war and peace savaged the land and sea, time had remained calm. At the height of prosperity eternity was a day. And Stiles was a king who lived without bitterness.

But then, his mother's spirit dissolved and returned to the sea.

Stiles feels time for the first time. Had he the words of a poet, he would have said that all tides of sweetness had receded. He would have said that now he could see the clear emptiness of the sky, and hear how sadness would sound, ringing in his mind.

Stiles had lived many lives, met many people at different times. Yet when Stiles's mother died, the world had opened its jaws wide.

\-----

Stiles's father doesn't know the truth of Stiles and his mother. And to Stiles, it has to remain that way. John Stilinski must never know that he managed to bring a spirit of out the sea, and he must not know that Stiles is older than any tree alive today.

To be touched by spirits is to invite danger, especially from denizens of the many different hells that have been given birth by humanity. Stiles does not wish that kind of curse on his father.

To John Stilinski, Stiles is a twelve year old child, and his mother died of a mysterious disease. And for Stiles, he intends to keep it that way.

\------

Stiles doesn't swim. He runs.

He runs with the clumsiness and gangliness of a body growing to maturity, and with the insouciance of a spirit that doesn't need the assurance to know he is good at something.

When he enters school, Stiles gravitates towards Scott, a boy who lends him crayons when arts and crafts starts, and neither he nor his mother knew what to pack for him. He doesn't understand Scott at times, with his need to smile at the smallest of things, but Stiles learns from him. Soon, they're friends, and Stiles makes sure that Scott is the only friend he has, because it's easier that way to keep eyes away.

From Scott, Stiles learns how to be human, to learn to love and chase away his haunted dreams. He learns how to speak, to develop a tic, to play and chase the imaginary. And in turn, Stiles makes sure that the two of them have as much as fun as they can in a world where no one is really free, but instead tied down. Stiles makes wildness into reality.

Still, Stiles misses the sea. He'd never admit it, but he feels trapped, slowly suffocating. Here in Beacon Hills, the town of his mother's dreams, Stiles feels like he is decanting.

In the town that his mother loves, there is no access to the sea.

Only the wildest of storms raise its scent to Stiles. He misses the sea and cradles the memento he has some nights to sleep. The conch shell, the only other thing he has besides his sark. Stiles presses the old enamel to his ear and listens to the false sea.

\--

ii.

\--

"Dude, two joggers found a body in the woods."

Stiles should have seen this coming.

\------

Scott gets bitten. It happens not because of serendipity or destiny but more like some absent Father above getting distracted by a cup of tea.

Stiles feels the disturbance in the air, and with a rush, his oldness returns.

Stiles goes back to his room that night,  excuses himself from the table. His father raises an eyebrow, but Stiles quickly says _I forgot something_.

He returns to his room, and after locking the door, opens his cupboard and withdraws the box where his sark is kept.

Seven years ago, Stiles promised himself that he would never use his sark again. He promised that he'd never open the box that held his mother's wedding shoes. But tonight is different. Something has changed. Stiles pulls out his box, and calls for his magic to rise.

Magic, cold and bright, courses through his body. Stiles sighs, closing his eyes. It's been too long. He flexes his fingers, and the animus rocks against the shores of his skin.

Stiles is not weak. He'd never been weak. His mother had called him spell weaver, scolded him for noticing the invisible leylines that floated in the air, golden arches that flowed along the magical potential of an area. Stiles is magic, and he knows how to weave a curse and unstitch the curse from the very seams. And so he works. Slowly at first, then faster, till shadows bleed out from the cardboard. They turn clear and vanish. Spells to instantly kill and destroy any enemy leaves the smell of brine behind.

When Stiles finally opens the box, the smell of waves fills the air.

A sark is made out of memories and promises. Infused by the intangible nature of a spirit borne out of magic itself, Stiles's sark shimmers with sapphire light, smoky traceries flickering to life in spiderweb formations, resolving into blue light that mimics waves on a shore.

 _Blood in the water I sing_ , the fabric of his soul calls, _and one who shed it..._

Memories rise to the sark's beckoning. Memories of how to cast thunderstorms, to shift, to breathe. Stiles regards the fabric in his hands with the fullness of his existence, and watches light play in his hands.

It is a few hours before Stiles moves again. In that time, he hears his father drink himself under, stumble into bed. He can hear, with his now-sharpened hearing, Scott's breathing a few streets away.

And despite the flush of power in his hands, the promise of all he can have if he just leaves for the sea, Stiles is torn.

"I could leave," Stiles says, trying to convince himself.

Yet, the words fall dead from his mouth, no vitality within. Stiles can't leave.

Stiles is pulled back into the past. He remembers his mother, grasping Stiles's hand as she lies dying in a bed not her own.

_"No matter what," Nierna gasps, "no matter what, you protect him till he dies." Her eyes are desperate, motivated by an emotion that Stiles cannot understand. "Promise me a sunrise till sundown of our lifetime. Stay with him till he leaves."_

"Mother, I will try," he says, and doesn't leave.

\-----

Stiles begins with finding an ally.

What had bit Scott, Stiles realises, must be governed by the Land. As a Land-dweller, he or she must be a shape-changer. There are only five remaining types of shape-changers left in the current age, and only the wolf and cougar can be found in the Americas.

Based on this logic, Stiles begins conducting research. Not willing to wait for Scott to turn on his own, Stiles calls up a creek sprite to ask about paranormal sightings in the forest. He contacts a selkie with his conch, asks her to conduct some basic research on the town.

Information is slow to come, but the Sea never hurries itself. Three days later, Stiles confirms his observation: the wolf was the shape-changer that Scott met.

It takes an hour in the woods to locate a wolf and butcher it with a blade of water he shapes out of the air. He prises a number of sharp bristles from the flank of the beast, and using it with a bowl of water scries the town for a werewolf's presence. When he gets the signal, he's running, and in an hour corners Derek in the forest, as good as a territorial disadvantage he can get.

"You will help me control my friend," he tells him.

Derek looks at him and flashes his bottle-blue eyes. "Why should I help you?"

Stiles has his lacrosse stick with him, the only makeshift weapon that he can get, but human weapons are unnecessary in this place. Stiles floods his body with animus, and blows Derek with a gale of salt-drunken air.

"We are not different, shapeshifter."

Derek flinches from Stiles's eyes. "Fuck you. Get away from me."

"Why are you being so resistant?" Stiles asks. He knows what those eyes mean. "A friend of mine has been bitten and he needs to gain control. Help me, wolf-man. You should be loyal to those of your kind, at least." He lets his lacrosse stick fall to the ground, as he steps over it and walks over to Derek.

Derek flinches away from Stiles's approach at first, his defensive posture sending flags up. But Derek doesn't try to run away. He accepts Stiles's hand, and is pulled up. "Someone was bitten?" Derek says.

"Yes. A good friend of mine."

Wary eyes meet Stiles's cool ones. "I'll help, but you have to keep your distance."

\-----

It takes about a week for Stiles to conclude that Derek is loyal.

Derek, like many of his kind, instinctively distrusts Stiles. He regards Stiles with unconscious fear, plays up his aggression, and his abrasiveness. Yet, despite that, he recognises Scott for the wolf he will be, and he works with Stiles, purchasing material, planning, giving information.

There is a week to Scott's first full moon. Preparations are made, Stiles working at the details till all possibilities are replaced with contingency plans and escapes. Days pass while Derek takes Scott out, distracting him from Stiles's activity.

And then the day comes, and Stiles chains Scott to the walls in his room and leaves him there.

Derek is outside the house when Stiles slips out to join him. While he participated in the plans, he looks uneasy. "We could let him out and I could bring him through the forest, let him stretch his instincts out properly," he says.

Stiles shakes his head. "We can't trust his control yet, control on the first moon shift for your kind is always tenuous at best." He had tried, on Derek's behalf, to train Scott. Bringing him outside to calm down when Scott began freaking out. Agitating him with physical stress to help him simulate shifting stress.

It had worked, but it was not enough.

Derek fails to keep a disquieted expression off his face. "You would do this to your friend?" he asks, and Stiles shrugs. The sound of thrashing, frantic howling can be heard, but its muffled to all but the keenest of ears.

"It has to be done," Stiles says.

\-----

Scott's eyes are full of disbelief, the kind that fractures an illusion of unbreakable bonds between friends, when morning comes around. When Stiles had entered the room, keys in hand, he had looked at Stiles with a tired resignation, the moon-anger wrung completely out of him.

"So, how's the wolf now?" Stiles asks, cheerfully. He turns to look at the window, and sees that Derek's silhouette is gone from the swing set outside. "Did your first moon go well?"

Scott looks at Stiles like he's seeing Stiles in a new light. "What did you do?"

Stiles laughs, and rubs the nape of his neck. "I did nothing."

_I do everything for mother, you, and me._

\-----

Over the next few weeks, Stiles slowly loses the insulation that separates the supernatural from his mundane life.

The supernatural is always dangerous. Stiles has dowsed the town before, on nights when he can't sleep from the pain of being away from the sea, or when he had felt the presence of a few unusual presences in Beacon Hills. He can't ever forget what happened in the past, when children like Achilles and Patroclus and all the half-born kids stained the sea gold and red. There are reasons why divine and mundane should not mix.

And yet, Stiles thinks, he got caught up in this.

Stiles's father gets involved. Sheriff in profession and guardian in character, Stiles was never able to convince his dad to take up something safer. He goes and begins investigating.

Then there's Scott, a lodestone for trouble, playing catch up with his mind, careening off individuals and spreading his connections. Lacking control and all too young, just like all of the other heroes of the age. He can't stop searching, or running.

And the people that Scott meets and makes contact with. They become involved in this too. Allison. Danny. Lydia.

Stiles doesn't regard this development happily. While Scott and Stiles have spent days eyeing people from afar - it always has been from afar. It's dangerous to let people in, and for Scott, who cannot keep attention turned away -- it is doubly dangerous to keep his shape-changing powers secret.

"I don't want Allison near Scott." Derek says, when Stiles first meets him after the night at Scott's house. They are at a clearing in the forest, or one of the bigger spaces in the forest filled by gigantic, century-old trees. Derek is pacing in a tight circle, his boots churning the ground. "He shouldn't be with anyone when he's so new to this."

Stiles nods. "I agree, but I'm stuck because I can't do anything about this with my image to maintain."

"Then I'll tell him to stop meeting her." Derek says.

 _The tone of your voice_ , Stiles thinks, _gives you away_. The posture of Derek's back reminds Stiles of his dad, waiting for the telephone to ring, walking around in circles, waiting for a call that he wouldn't want to get.

There is something Derek isn't telling him.

Derek shifts, meeting Stiles's gaze. "What?" His voice is abrasive, rough, and Stiles feels the answer slide into place.

"There is fear of death, and then there is fear of love." Stiles shrugs. "We all live in fear of either one, my friend. You have to choose one."

\-----

Stiles considers telling Scott the truth about himself, and then decides against it.

The opportunity had come up numerous times. Humans, with their desire for rapport, for comfort when their thoughts are convoluted, seek an equal who is as confused as them, as lost as them. Scott is always confused, and always lost with his new abilities.

Still, it is better to only reveal one's secrets when one can make use of them. And so Stiles keeps his secrets and stashes them away.

Of course, though, it is only fair that Stiles appreciates someone with a similar predicament. Lydia, with her diamond exterior and carefully constructed perfection, is the closest thing to the Sea that Stiles can lay his eyes upon. Prone to rage and calm, she is still lovely and vulnerable underneath her surface.

Stiles loves Lydia in the way artists love perfection. And like an artist, he doesn't keep his admiration secret.

Secrets. When things come to a head two weeks later, Stiles finds that even the allies he has gotten have their own weaknesses and secrets.

It is a Tuesday night. Stiles is out on the town, ghosting through the streets under charm, magic drawn close to his body when he hears the sounds of shooting. As soon as he hears it, Stiles moves from ghosting to running, his animus triangulating the sound.

He arrives in the warehouse district just in time to hear a "come on!" from a crazed voice. Stiles tastes the air, and the clues come to him. The taste of silver, the taste of aconite. The taste of blood on tepid air.

Stiles lifts his lips in a snarl. "Derek," he curses, low enough that the woman whom he has pegged at about five blocks away cannot hear him.

\-----

Stiles finds Derek at the remains of the house Derek's family once lived and loved in.

"This is the worst place to hide." Stiles says, letting his invisibility drop. Derek had been arrested here, he had been seen multiple times by mundanes in the town who drove up to look at the place. It is a mistake that makes Stiles's anger build up for the first time in a long while. His animus flares hot, and a wind rushes through the house, leaving anger hanging like a smell in the air. "Tell me, Derek, who was that hunter in the town."

Derek lies on the floor, bleeding sticky black blood. "Argent," Derek says. He tries to get up when Stiles appears in front of him, not afraid to flinch, but sags, ultimately, against a foundation beam. "That was --"

Stiles bleeds his eyes of his inhuman colour. "You mean to say that Allison's kinmember did this to you? The girl my friend is chasing?"

"Argents are hunters. Latin," Derek gasps. Stiles steps over, and with a hand rips apart the shirt Derek has. "They specialise in shapechangers like me."

Stiles swears in English. Stiles has never seen supernatural poison, could never be affected by any. But Derek looks like he is in bad shape. "Evil has arrived tonight."

"Wolfsbane." Derek states the obvious. "I need the antidote, fast."

Stiles calculates his options. "I can get it for you," Stiles says. "But it will be close."

\-----

Stiles convinces Derek to get away from the house. A part of him realises that Derek has nowhere else to go, and regrets the outburst he had earlier. Derek is already drowning in a sea of his own, and he grasps on to whatever he has left. He insists on driving his Camaro and stashing it somewhere, and Stiles, out of respect, lets him. But once Derek finishes, he becomes too weak to move and surrenders to Stiles manhandling.

Stiles calls in sick, putting on a persona, and smuggles Derek to the animal clinic after talking to Scott. He uses Scott's hidden key, and out of consideration for Derek, tries to put him somewhere comfortable. Still, there there is little Stiles can do for Derek in a sterile lab.

Stiles doesn't want anyone to die on his watch. He remembers all too well the sounds of struggle, confused armies clashing on a battlefield centuries ago, lightning crackling over the sky, the flash of valour before one was claimed by death. His gaze must have darkened, colouring with his true heritage, because Derek hisses.

"What --" Derek asks, and Stiles hushes him.

"No. No. Nothing." Stiles, smooths Derek's hair, which is matted with sour sweat. An oddly intimate gesture, but mortality makes all individuals unusually accepting of it. "I'm just thinking. Scott's supposed to be getting the antidote --"

Derek snarls, because he knows what that fully entails, Scott not breaking his romance with Allison. "Love makes fools of us all," Stiles chastises. His eyes go dark again, remembering something else. "And let's not be angry at the one person who might be able to save you."

Derek however, for the first time, surprises Stiles. "That is not true," Derek says, for once his voice sounding unbearably, painfully filled with life. "I can't be saved."

\-----

Derek lies on the metal gurney, breaths going shallower and raspier.

"Tell me something. Anything." Derek begs, after eight. He is near incoherent - body is beginning to burn itself out, heat radiating against skin, fighting to fight infection and failing.

"I don't know what to tell you." Stiles says. He presses a palm against Derek's forehead, taking care to stay away from Derek's neck. _How young he is._ "I don't know what I should say."

"My entire family is dead," Derek tells Stiles. A lament, voice tight with fire and grief. "Surely you can tell me something before I die."

"You aren't the first person I have seen die." Stiles offers. "My mother died because she made us leave the Sea." He graces Derek with a glance, and sees him gripped with an intense, shared loss for losing someone who went too young. "I was created by my mother's intent, you know. My creator is gone."

"Then why did you stay?"

"I stayed to give my mother's love a chance." Stiles switches hands now, because Derek is burning up. "I mean, did you find any peace when you left?"

Derek closes his eyes. "No. Emptiness, all ways, always."

\--

iii.

\--

After the end of the wait, after Scott arrives, hurried and gasping in relief, Stiles retires to bed, but then, hesitating, gets up.

Dismantling the curses he had painstakingly reapplied to his mother's shoebox, Stiles pulls out his sark and looks at it. He crosses his legs on his bed, and lets the fabric of his soul pour through his hands.

Here in his room, where his breathing breaks the silence, Stiles knows the exact moment that Derek sneaks into the yard. He hears the sounds of Derek's feet, and does not need to strain for the sound of Derek landing on the shingles outside Stiles's window.

There is a pause - an ever so cursory one, as Derek regards Stiles through the glass. "Can I come in?" he asks.

Derek's voice is respectful. Stiles sighs. "My father will be out late tonight," he says, and motions for Derek to come in.

Derek opens and slips through the window, settling into the swivel chair at Stiles's desk. "Are you better?" Stiles queries.

Derek shrugs. It is a smooth pull, Derek's broad shoulders rising and falling. "I'll heal." His gaze is locked on Stiles's sark, sea-green eyes looking at shimmering cloth. "Is that..." He asks, voice quiet.

"It's my object of power." Stiles answers. He lets his hands run through the fabric, causing his sark to brighten. "It's one of the things about our connection with the Sea." Derek is silent, and Stiles continues. Or tries to. He laughs first. "Derek, you asked me to tell you something when you were dying. I'm sorry I couldn't earlier, but if you want, there is a story I can tell you."

Derek is expectant. Stiles takes a breath. "This is the difference between the Land and the Sea."

"All the old stories start like this," Stiles says. "The Sea was in love with the Sky, for she admired the brilliance of his clothes, the ever changing hues of sunset and dawn, velvet at night. The same was with the Land and the Stars, admiring the brilliance and light which gave the Land life.

"Tragedy, as all tragedies are, led to a sad fate: neither Land nor Sea could meet their lovers. Denied and angered, loving things they could not love, the Land and Sea found each other, and hurt each other. Raising storms and crashing waves, raising land and molten heat.

"They too, however, were creators. So in their image they fashioned the first of the kin. The Sea was a kind mother. She made her kin a core, a skin. The core to always claim them, but if they so chose to leave, they could." He raises his sark. "All true kin born from Her have this, the means to visit the Land."

"And what about the Land?" Derek asks.

Stiles looks up. Derek is dark against the moonlight passing into the room, and only his eyes burn bright, death-blue. "The Land was not as kind," Stiles says, voice soft. "For his children, he fused them to be always together, never apart. Conscious and animal, never one without the other."

The silence stretches till Derek ever so quietly leaves.

\-----

The reprieve lasts another week, before the final piece reveals itself.

Peter Hale sneaks out of his place in the daycare, murdering the nurse who was helping him. All the chess pieces are forced into movement.

In two hours, Lydia is down. Allison vanishes with Kate. Derek is incapacitated. Jackson is cornered in the hospital.

And Stiles? Stiles is trapped.

"I do not have time for this." Stiles mutters, as the hunters push him into a room and corral him. He turns to look at them. "I suggest you let me go. You might think you are above the law, but you aren't."

The thing about groups is that they tend to make people less wise. Two hunters flank Chris Argent, and at Stiles's words, they laugh. "We abide by the code," one of the hunters say. Stiles immediately pegs him at a three on a difficulty scale of killing. "Tell us where the wolves are and we'll let you go just fine."

"Like I would know," Stiles says, attempting to play the fool once more. He looks at the other man, and ranks him at a four. He's got a hand on his pistol but he's also got his hand near his knife. _If I splintered his hand and disarmed his gun, I could probably shoot at least one of the men before I'd get tackled --_

Chris distracts Stiles from his plotting. "Where are the wolves, Stiles?" Chris asks.

Stiles had always liked Chris - he's always the most pragmatic, the most careful one of the Argent trio. Stiles decides to go for a wisecrack. "I would suggest listening to a howl," he grins. And Scott, making a serendipitous diversion, lets out a beastial scream.

\-----

Stiles runs out of the hospital. He heads for the bushes, where he's stashed a bag filled with essentials. _Contingency plan G - in event of a surprise infraction head to one of five drop areas to take stashed supplies._ He grabs it the moment he reaches it, ripping off the black garbage bag wrapping, and makes his way to the stream near the hospital. It's a five minute jog, but Stiles doesn't push himself -- he has to maintain his energy for any emergencies later.

_Contingency Plan B - in event that you cannot reach Scott or Derek in an emergency, suspension on summoning is allowed._

Stiles makes a calculation - Chris and the hunter duo has got at least a good two minute head start. Stiles doesn't have his jeep available right now, nor any transport fast enough to beat the car: Jackson bailed, leaving the hospital once the hunters had slipped.

Stiles fumbles with his bag, drawing out an ashwood bowl. Soon, he hears the sound of water, and pushes himself. A river soon presents itself, and Stiles crouches at the bank, dipping the bowl into cold water.

The first splash of water on Stiles's hands sends Stiles's animus in a frenzy. _Good,_ Stiles thinks dazedly, as he stills the water in the bowl and starts using his fingers to trace a series of silver symbols into the bowl. _Any power right now is good._

Stiles brings the bowl up to his mouth and closes the silver knot. Sigils burn bright on the water. " _Ceffyl Dŵr,"_ Stiles says, and the water flashes silver. "I require the help of the Hunter's friend."

Casting the silvered water into the river, the water accepts his summons and churns the summons into the bedrock. Within seconds, the entire portion of the creek is shining. The forest falls silent, and Stiles feels his spell pulling the Sea.

A horse steps out of the water.

The _Ceyffl's_ body is black, mane made of seaspray foam. Stiles remembers seeing this with his mother in some of his earliest days, moving through the water and watching a herd of them galloping in the sea. Dark, lucid eyes gaze out at Stiles, and Stiles tilts his head. " _Ceffyl_ , well met on the Journey."

" _Genim Adualina of the Sea._ " The water horse bows his head. " _I am unworthy._ "

" _I do not go by that name anymore,_ " Stiles says, as he slips into his old tongue. " _Messengers of the water should know better._ "

" _The sea recognises a loyal son, Adualina._ " The waterhorse says. He pulls out three of his hooves out of the water. His gaze bears on Stiles, looking at his skin, but also piercing past, perceiving Stiles's true form. " _And therefore, you are exempt from the honour you receive. Nontheless, Adualina, you will suffer for calling me - my kind's magic is not cloakable - any of the Land's kind will feel it --_ "

Stiles bites out a laugh. " _I have made a foolish choice, Ceffyl, but I must make it anyway._ " He looks at the water horse with unguarded eyes, his eyes a pure, honey gold. " _Ferry me._ "

" _As you must_." The _Ceyffl_ says, and bends his forelegs, displaying his mane to Stiles.

\-----

Stiles's magic is strong enough that the translocationary spell is barely a drain. Gripping the hair that Stiles had stolen from Derek's head (pragmatism had overridden that impulse that Stiles still yet does not comprehend), Stiles mixes his magic with the _Ceyffl_ and goes along for the ride.

When he materialises in the place where Derek will be, he hisses when he sees the burnt, black husk of the house. "We come the full circle."

But of course. History repeats itself.

Nevertheless, Stiles forges on. And as soon as he is close enough to the house, he hears the snick of a crossbow.

Stiles lets his body light up with his animus. _I'm going too far,_ some part of Stiles says, some unusually human and scared whispering, _I will be pulling further trouble in_ \--

Stiles channels his magic throughout his body, and with magic-softened footsteps, enters the charred house.

Right there and then, he sees Scott and Allison, Derek and Kate. Stiles hisses at the sight of Allison hiding behind her aunt, the oathbreaker.

Derek, Stiles's only ally, lifts up his eyes, breaking concentration from his wounds. And when he makes eye contact with Stiles, the barest of hint of a grin crosses his face.

"Will we be okay?" Derek mouths.

Stiles whispers, "yes."

\-----

It takes a few minutes for Stiles to locate Peter, and with a bait-and-switch technique, leads him into the house.

And in the horror that follows, Stiles hiding out and monitoring the situation from outside the house, hidden up high in the boughs of a tree, Stiles watches the story's end.

Kate is dismembered. Derek, broken yet mended, faces down his uncle, and with the help of fire, slits his throat.

The long howl that he lets out to those gathered in the clearing makes Stiles close his eyes. When Derek turns away from the people gathered in the clearing, to peer up at Stiles with his newly-reddened eyes, Stiles nods, and then vanishes.

\-----

That night, after Stiles lies enough such that his dad is convinced of Stiles' version of events, Stiles makes his way up to his bedroom, takes a shower, and then waits for Derek to come.

This time round, Stiles doesn't take out his sark. After all the years of repressing his animus, tonight, Stiles's magic is liquid, flowing through his mind. Feeling the spiderwebs of magic is enough to sate Stiles for the night.

When Derek appears, Stiles looks at Derek, and Derek looks at him.

"Hey. Can I come in?" Derek asks, and Stiles nods.

Derek enters, and paces to where Stiles is, waiting on the bed. He moves with greater wildness now, but when he sits on the bed next to Stiles, he feels human, restrained.

"We did it." Stiles says. He sounds tired, Stiles realises. It had been a gamble, leaving Derek alone in the house with Peter and not being there, having to sit outside, unable to assist unless things were truly fucked up in every way. Everything could have gone wrong, but Stiles had no choice.

_"We have to discuss what happens in case either of us gets attacked." Derek says one day while they're planning, Stiles meeting Derek with the manacles that Stiles had brought to approve. "It might happen. The werewolf that's attacking has been randomly killing people, indiscriminately."_

_"There's always a pattern to murder," Stiles says. "But what can we do, if we get attacked? I can fend for myself, but what if one of us is going to --"_

_"I'm not as strong as you are."_

_Derek's words arrest Stiles's words, and Stiles looks at Derek with new appreciation. "That's honest of you," Stiles says. "But if you aren't strong enough to fight the rogue, then --"_

_"I have to outwit that person," Derek says. "That's where I need your help, see --"_

_"You're not a thinker," Stiles finishes for him. "But what if the plan doesn't work out?"_

"Bringing Peter in was good," Derek says, breaking Stiles out of his mood. "I wouldn't have thought of it."

Stiles shrugs. "It served the situation." A pause. "Are you okay?"

Derek mimics Stiles's gesture. "Peter was... he was not perfect." His voice is unemotional, but Stiles can tell that Derek still hurts, to kill a man that was one of his last remaining family. "At least now I'll have time to breathe."

Stiles sighs. "About that."

Derek looks up at him. "What did you do?"

"To get to the house on time," Stiles says, "I used my an -- my magic. It's going to be a beacon to other supernatural threats... I should probably draw them away, leave myself."

Stiles feels briefly pained. He had worked hard for these few years to protect the life his mother had created, and now he had to leave. The pain he was going to cause --

Derek shifts. "How sure are you that people will come."

"Almost certain." Stiles looks at his cupboard, where his sark is. "I can't... I can't really protect anyone if I stay here. Leaving, that would be easier."

Derek frowns. "Stiles..."

Stiles grins. "That isn't even my real name."

" _Stiles._ "

Stiles falls silent. "Look," Derek says. "I'm not good with words, I'm... I'm messed up in many ways. But you know, you're stuck here, imprisoned because of your ties here. You might be of the Sea, but I think that you'd stick out for your Pack if you had any."

Stiles nods. "Fair enough."

"And the thing is," Derek continues with a heat behind those words, derision tempered by respect. "I don't necessarily want to like you, but I trust you. Stiles. And you know what, you'd do much better if you protect the place you live. Running won't solve anything. I know that."

Stiles looks at his hands, the human hands that he shaped with his mother before stepping out of the sea. Every year, they grew longer, slenderer. "I've been here for a very, very long time, Derek."

"Then you must be wiser than me," Derek says. "You can think and make the decision that you know is right, too."

And Stiles laughs, and then thinks.

Stiles still does not put his faith in people. He's done it too many times. But the only person who has never let him down made him promise her something.

_"Promise me Genim," Neirna says to him. "A sunrise to sundown. Protect your family."_

And isn't that the entire point of this? The entire reason why he chose to stay?

Stiles breathes, and grins.

"I'll stay," he says. "I'll kill anyone that threatens this place."

**Author's Note:**

> I really have to just get this off my system and post this already, so here it is. Basically, this is what happened when I was reading Madeline Miller's fantastic writing and also binging on Teen Wolf: more magic!Stiles, or rather an old and jaded waterspirit!Stiles.
> 
> I have no excuses for this, but I'd like to just gratefully pay homage to many of the fics that in one way or the other inspired this fic. The Wolf Whistle series by the amazingly talented Ashinan, tskinofaerii's brilliant "9/10ths of the Law", and LadyLade's "The Ebb of the Sea". Y'all are amazing writers and I hope I can write with as much skill as you three have.
> 
> I'll write a sequel for this eventually.


End file.
